


Dichotomy of Being

by wow_okay



Series: Analytically Incorrect [1]
Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Character Analysis, Existential Crisis, honestly what's the point, something about living and dying, the cosmic ocean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 13:46:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21339226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wow_okay/pseuds/wow_okay
Summary: Morty realizing he's becoming Rick as he recalls Rick's feelings toward life.
Series: Analytically Incorrect [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1538320
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	1. Reverse Mitosis

Rick has never failed to tell us how meaningless we are. He's never failed to tell us how meaningless life is. Because there are infinite lives. Infinite people that could replace all the others lost. A never ending rain of people over people over people who would continue to replace and renew and restore. Person after person would continue to die in every universe and reality until another person replaced them. 

I always wondered if maybe this was a lie. If maybe our brains were so overwhelmed that they continued to supply us with infinite scenarios. Impossibilities that we made up so that our reality didn't seem so dismal. Providing us with people and places we thought were impossible until our minds dreamed them up for us. 

But of course, Rick disproved this small theory of mine, this small safety. A thing I could think that would allow me to live with all the wonderful and equally horrible things I've seen and done. He relishes the opportunity to tell us we are wrong. That my small fantasies to cope with so many large realities are a coward's way out. 

Maybe he's right. 

But I can feel myself becoming him. Every trip pulls me even closer to him; my mind careening towards his in a bizarre sort of dance, like rocks tumbling down a mountain. Or maybe not closer to him, but rather closer to his state of being. Like it's crawling under my skin. I can feel it in my veins. Something that's not blood. Something distinctly Rick. And I wonder who he was before this: Before me. Or mom. Or his ex-wife. Who was he before he was cursed with the knowledge that instead of us being part of something larger, we are just part of something unforgiving. A cosmic ocean, swirling and spitting and dredging people up on shore like seashells. Taking us as we are and smoothing us into sand, small enough to simply be part of something that ultimately serves no purpose. 

What did he think of the world around him? I wonder if maybe he concerned himself with small things: women and parties and school. I wonder if when he loved his wife, he _really_ loved her. I wonder if he ever really loved my mother. Or me. _Does_ he love? 

Sometimes I don't think so. _Most_ of the time I don't think so. Everything he does, he does because he can. Because we're all just a part of some meaningless revolution. The moon goes around the earth and the earth goes around the sun and the solar system goes around the Milky Way. He does it because if someone dies in this reality, they live in another. If ten people die or one hundred or one million, it doesn't matter because nothing matters. If nothing matters then why should love. Why should life? Life's not precious because there is no purpose right? Maybe he's right not to love.

But once again, _does_ he love? 

There are small things that make me think he does. Little moments where that hard mask he wears gets too heavy. Or he forgets it's there, and I get to see him. 

I saw him cry once. It was dark and he thought he was alone and I had looked outside at a glance and saw him sitting in the grass with a bottle of something very strong. He was looking at his hand. I watched him, sitting there staring at the lines in his palm, lip trembling, as his cheeks grew damp. I watched him stare at his hand until he couldn't hold it up anymore. He looked away then, towards the sky and I saw his _eyes_. I will never see another look like that. It was that ocean. Drowning and dragging and making things that should matter into nothing. 

It was then that I knew I should be worried about him. No one who looked like that could want to live. No one _looked like that_. And I do worry now. About him. About what he does when he's alone. About what he thinks... Because sometimes I think things that scare me. That sound like they should come out of Rick's mouth. If Rick believes existence is simply a puzzle with no reward, what will I think? 

What happens if one day I stop believing in the importance of life? Of love? Should I still believe in those things? What happens if one day I die because the idea of living life with no meaning becomes too much? 

"Rick, what happens if one day everything dies?" 

He glances at me. "What?"

I stare at him, wringing my hands together in front of me. I'd been watching him tinker with another experiment in front of him for a few hours and watching his face distort as he fixed it made me think... 

"What happens if all of our infinities- or- or our universes stop? Or die?"

He looks at me fully now, a strange expression on his face. "Morty, what are you talking about?" 

"Rick!" I shout, woefully, wishing he would answer the question. 

He sets down his screwdriver and goes to pick up something else. "Of course everything will die, _Morty_. That's how this works. There's no such thing as _if_ just _when_." He glances at me again. "What's got you so philosophical, huh? Can't- can't you just watch me work on something for once without _iiiiin_terrupting?" 

I watch him go back to work, my eyebrows drawn together sadly. _Not if but when_.

He glances at me again, then looks back at his project. "If you're thinking that there has to be some kind of reason behind things living and dying- _including_ the universe and every single reality- you're wrong. There isn't. We all live, we all die. One day everything will end, and there will be no reason for it. Just like there was no reason for it beginning. It just began. No one had a say in it, and no one gets a say in what will happen in the end. You just have to live with it. But it's fine. That means we can do whatever we want and the only consequences are what happens to us in this life, because nothing comes after." 

He laughs. 

And I watch him work on the helmet he's been working on since he moved in like life has meaning and what we do matters. 

And even though it's not true I'll believe it as long as I can before I become Rick too.


	2. The Only Stage of Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morty meets a war veteran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ngl i'm half asleep and the only reason i finished writing/editing/posting this chapter was because i have 3 papers due and i dont want to do them

Morty knew there was a difference between being a drunk and being an alcoholic. He figured a drunk was someone who was sober most of the time but spent long junctures wasted, relying on alcohol but in the most careless manner possible. And a drunk's sole purpose was not feeling anything. An alcoholic was someone who depended on alcohol as well, but in a very different manner. Carrying a flask and relying on alcohol to keep them comfortably numb all the time. He figured his mother would appreciate his personal Pink Floyd reference but not under these circumstances. Not if he was talking about her father who she was content on defending until the day she died. 

Morty knew Rick was what he considered an alcoholic until nights like these where he was, in fact, drunk. He could deal with it, his mother was an alcoholic too, but it seemed to be happening more and more recently, and Morty was getting worried. What could he do for him? He couldn't do this every night, he _did_ have school and Rick was constantly dragging him on missions, so he couldn't make it a personal chore to take care of his inebriated grandfather.

But then, who else was going to do it. 

Morty sighed at the display in front of him: Rick on his back on the garage floor reaching for his empty flask but to no avail. No matter how far he _didn't_ move, he couldn't grab it. He was just grasping at it emptily, mumbling something about physics and how _technically_ he was the unstoppable force to the flask's immovable object.

Morty shut the garage door behind him and made his way over. 

"I- In at least two hundred and eighty-three universes, you _eeeee_nd up in my hand, so why- why don't you just make this easy." He was talking to the flask, unaware the Morty was standing right next to him.

"Rick." He said, exasperated. 

Rick turned over, eyes droopy and tired. "Morty! Hey- hey Morty do grandpa a favor and grab- grab that flask for me. Grab my flask for me, Morty." As he spoke he gestured limply with his hand, laying his head on the floor and staring at the ceiling. "I need it. To- to think, Morty. Because I know what you're thinking. 'He doesn't need it to think, he needs it so he doesn't have to think.'" 

"Yep, that's- that's what I'm thinking, Rick." He said tiredly as he stepped over his grandfather to pick up his flask which was empty. 

"Well, you're wrong. Morty. You're- I need it to think. I'm smarter than you so what do you know, right?" 

"Rick- " 

"It's not- what if I told you it's not even alcohol. W_ooouuu_ld you believe that, Morty? Probably. You're-"

"Rick, it's empty." 

"You're not as smart as me, Morty, you're a moron." Rick looked self-satisfied before looking up at Morty who was standing over him. "What?" He asked. 

Morty sighed, getting frustrated with the constant verbal assault Rick gave him. It was bad enough when he was sober. "It's _empty_ Rick. There's nothing left." To accentuate his point he turned it over and shook it.

Rick gave him an incredulous look. "Well go-go get more, you know where your mom keeps it Mor- Morty! What the hell's wrong with you? It's not like- look you have legs, go get more!" 

Morty stood and watched him wriggle on the floor as he spoke with a fatigued look before saying, "You have legs, you go get it. I'm going to bed." He dropped the flask on Rick's chest and turned away, listening to him curse as he shut the garage door behind him and made his way through the dining room and up the stairs to his room. 

\------ 

Morty laid there for an hour facing the wall in the dark. He was tired. He and Rick had gone on an adventure today where they had to steal some kind of mineral from an alien scientist which included getting grazed by a plasma bullet and kicked in the nuts. Twice. Then he'd come home and watched his parents fight in front of the tv like he hadn't been watching it. 

Everyone in the house was asleep except Rick who he heard in the garage, stumbling around. 

He stared at a chip in the paint on his wall for two more minutes before he decided he wouldn't sleep unless he did something about Rick. Exhausted and annoyed, the threw the covers back and made his way down the stairs, through the dining room, and back into the garage where he swung the door open to the sight of Rick holding a bottle of rum. 

"Where did you get rum?" He shouted, to which Rick spun around, swaying. "Mom doesn't keep rum in the house." He marched forward and yanked the already almost half-empty bottle out of Rick's hands. 

Rick wobbled again and stuck his finger out at Morty. "Give that back you turd." He swiped at it but was too slow and Morty held it out of his reach. 

"No. Go to bed." He said defiantly, placing a hand on his chest so he wouldn't fall on top of him. "It's almost two o'clock Rick. I'm tired! I want to go to sleep!" 

Rick swiped at the bottle again, angrily, before shouting, "Then go to sleep, Morty! No one asked you to stay awake, you stupid little boob." He turned towards his work bench and placed a hand on the edge to steady himself. 

Morty let the hand holding the bottle fall to his side as he watched Rick stare at the counter top. Rick got drunk all the time. He was an alcoholic, it was in the job description, but he rarely got wasted like this. Usually if he did he was partying, and on even rarer occasions it was because he was upset. Morty thought back to earlier that day. Nothing had happened that he could think of that would have upset Rick. In fact Rick had a great time. He laughed so hard tears welled up in his eyes when Morty got kicked the second time. But it had to be something. 

"Rick," Morty said quietly. He set the bottle down on the table next to him. "Please go to bed. Or tell me what's wrong." 

Rick didn't say anything and Morty could hear crickets outside the garage door. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Why does something have to be wrong, Morty, I'm drunk not dying." He snapped, still showing him his back. 

"Yeah well, when it comes to you, some people would argue that's the same thing." Morty murmured. 

Still Rick stood, swaying back and forth like a pendulum as he tried to steady himself. Morty glanced at his knuckles which were turning white as he fought to stay upright, and grabbed Rick's chair with a sigh. 

"Here," He said. "Sit." He pulled the chair towards the old man who eyed it suspiciously before electing to sit down with a heavy thump. Morty turned him so his back was leaning against the cabinets and he was facing him. Rick slumped, finally recognizing his fatigue, and let his chin fall against his chest. Morty exhaled and leaned against the table behind him, wondering if Rick was planning on sleeping like that or if he was already asleep. 

Several minutes went by in silence were Morty fought the urge to nod off and thought about what Mr. Goldenfold would say about his unfinished math homework before Rick finally spoke. "'S the anniversary, Morty." 

He looked up at his grandfather who was staring at the floor with wide eyes. He wanted to ask him to repeat himself so he would know if he imagined it. He wasn't sure he heard what he thought he had but he was afraid if he spoke Rick would clam up, so he stayed silent and still next to him. 

"'S the anniversary of that fight. That-that battle. Remember Mo-Morty?" He mumbled. Morty listened, enraptured by the idea of hearing about Rick's sketchy past. "I always- always get drunk on the anniversary." Morty wasn't sure what he was talking about. Rick had asked him like he was supposed to remember, but he didn't. 

"Rick?" He asked quietly. Rick didn't move. "I- I don't remember. Could... could you remind me?" His grandfather was silent again, still staring at that spot on the floor, and Morty worried that by talking he had made Rick remember why he never spoke about his past. 

"At- at... Birdperson's _wedding_, Morty." He spit the word wedding like it tasted bad, and Morty was suddenly reminded of that day. Rick, angry and upset, sitting at the bar while Morty chewed him out for not being nicer when his best friend was getting married. Something about Birdperson's big day being some fight against the Gromflomites instead of his literal wedding day. For a second Morty stared at Rick, remembering how he had screamed when Birdperson was killed. He shuddered at the memory of Tammy's voice changing. Watching Birdperson stand to confront the woman he loved; to ask her what was happening. The person he trusted more than anyone else.

Morty didn't know Birdperson that well, he'd only met him a few times. But he had saved Morty's life and, according to Rick and also Birdperson himself, he'd saved Rick's as well. 

And the thought of the person who'd saved him dying by the hand of the person he trusted above all else... 

He remembered the sound of his voice when he asked her. 

_"Tammy?"_

It was the most emotion he had ever heard in his voice and it was the last thing he ever said. 

Morty thought back on it, reminded of exactly how horrible it was. And he stared at Rick. His best friend killed in front of him. Listening to his last cries before death. What did Rick think? What did he feel? And apparently he wasn't even drunk because of that. 

Morty swallowed. "R-Rick?" He waited for an answer. Waited for Rick to look up. To look away. To cry. To shout. To ball his fists or blink or do _something_. But he just sat there.

And stared at the floor. 

Morty thought for a second, before deciding he wanted Rick to talk. Maybe it was cruel, or unfair or mean, and even though Rick had done far worse to Morty, that wasn't why he determined to do it. He just figured he deserved an explanation because of all the unanswered questions. So Morty knelt down in front of Rick where his eyes were now focused on his grandson. 

It took Rick a second to concentrate on the face in front of him, but Morty watched his eyes slowly adjust. As he waited everything filtered in: The silence of the house. The lone cricket left outside the garage. Rick's labored breathing. It was warm, too. The middle of summer sticking to them like sweat, making everything feel damp and claustrophobic. 

He watched a bead of sweat run down Rick's temple but he didn't think it was from the summer heat. 

"Rick," He said again. "Tell me what happened." 

Silence. Rick stared. Squinted. Pressed his lips together and then, quietly, "Blood Ridge." 

More silence. Morty waited for him to continue, sitting on his ankles with his hands clasped between his knees. His grandfather looked to be having a hard time, lip twitching as he thought. Wondering what to say and what not to. Wondering what he could keep inside now that his inhibitions were all but gone. 

Rick looked at Morty with a frown. He looked sick. Then with a sad sigh, "We were dying." 

Morty knew then that something had finally broken. 

"We had incited a war with- with the Federation. Started a rebel cause. It was like a fuckin'- fuckin' Star Wars movie, Morty. You would've loved it." He said the last sentence bitterly. "We were y-young, though. Too stupid to really- to really understand the gravity of what we'd s- of what we'd evoked. Like some angry fucking god woke up just to kick our asses. But we'd just pissed off the Federation, Morty. A bunch of power- hungry, privileged, pompous, arrogant motherfuckers who think they deserve to stick their greasy fingers in every pie, Morty! I hate them! Think they can do whatever they want, Morty!" Rick stood up then, hands clenched into fists and Morty scooted back a little, but his grandfather swayed, and the vicious look in his eyes faded as fast as it had come. His hands dropped and his fists uncurled and he looked away. 

"It was a shitty plan, Morty. Bound to fail. _Designed_ to fail." He laughed coldly, though it came out manic in his sloshed state. "We were supposed to have the element of surprise but the universe decided to fuck us over. They knew we were coming." He inhaled. Exhaled. Blinked.

Morty imagined young Rick. Standing next to Birdperson and Squanchy and a gang of rebels that would rival the crew of the Starship Enterprise. Guns up, waiting to storm that base at Blood Ridge when the Federation revealed they had known all along. It suddenly occurred to Morty that it probably wasn't always called Blood Ridge. 

He studied Rick with sad eyes. A war veteran who'd watched his friends die and thought to himself for _decades_ that it was his fault because he lived. Survivor's guilt they called it.

Morty stood then, and slowly made his way back to Rick who seemed more alert, and was tense at his proximity. He very slowly reached up and put his hand on Rick's arm. He glared at him out of the corner of his eye, and Morty felt him waver under his hand, but he didn't say anything. 

"Rick," Morty said quietly. "I'm- I'm really sorry." They stared at each other for a long time. Long enough for Rick's scowl to fall away and his eyes to droop. From physical or emotional exhaustion Morty couldn't say, but eventually his shoulders fell and he just looked... sad. For once. He wondered when the last time Rick had spoken about it was. Or if he ever had. But he figured now with Birdperson gone, it had to be much harder to deal with, and as much as he hated him sometimes, Morty wanted to be there for him. 

And just as he made he decision to move, to pull Rick into a hug and tell him he wished it was different and that he wished things could change, Rick shrugged out of his grasp and turned his back to him. 

"No one cares, Morty. No one cares about your opinion on a subject you know nothing about, and no one cares that you're _sorry_. It's a bunch of sappy, sentimental, bullshit that I don't want any part of." He whirled on him with a fire in his eyes. "Y-y-y-you think you can- you can change the past because you're _sorry_, you little punk? You think it'll make me _feel_ better if-if-if-if you give me a hug and tuck me into bed and tell me you love me? You think that'll solve all our problems, don't you, Morty! Why, because Beth would rather choose Summer over you? Because Jerry's too stupid to show you the love that you need? You think I'm gonna provide that for you because- because you thought you could make me feel better?

"Well, you- y-y-y-you've got another thing coming you stupid little sack of turds! You- you don't even deserve the title of doorknobs, Morty, because you're dumber than that! Love's not the answer, _Morty_, there _isn't_ one! We're here, and that's it! If anything, love's a weakness! A primal instinct on steroids that we all put on a pedestal be-because _sometimes_ it releases oxytocin in our stupid little monkey brains, Morty! Stop grasping for things that aren't there! I'm not gonna show you more- more love because you patted me on the back once. Get over yourself." Morty stared at him with tears in his eyes.

This was what it was. Loving Rick. His grandfather with a past that would put any earthly war heroes to shame. And any war criminals. Any shitty fathers or hateful neighbors. Estranged family or ex-wives. 

Everything you did for him was shamed. Put down. Mocked. Insulted, and bad- mouthed, and he was so good, so fucking good at making you feel like doing the right thing was wrong. He was _so_ good at it, and Morty _hated_ it. But Rick still always won somehow. Morty officially felt like shit for trying.

He stepped back once, then twice, and stared at Rick who glowered at him hazily. 

Another long silence passed and Morty wondered how he'd gotten here. 

"I really hope you forget someday, Rick." He wasn't sure if it was an insult, or one last attempt to make him feel better, but he left it at that. Not staying long enough to see his face or listen to him humiliate him again, he shut the door behind him and made his way through the dining room, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He shut the door quietly behind him and crawled into bed as the tears fell. 

It shouldn't have mattered. Rick was an expert at hurting Morty, and it wasn't even personal. He hurt everyone. But he's said what he'd said and once again he was right, and it just... _hurt_. But Morty knew the difference between a drunk and an alcoholic and he knew that when morning came, and he dragged himself out of bed with bags under his eyes, Rick wouldn't remember what had happened.

It was just that, now, Morty would never forget. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some of these will have happy endings? I just dont know when.


	3. Julie Andrews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Morty argue over Julie Andrews' version of the duality of man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came up with all of this dialogue while i was brushing my teeth and absolutely had to write it down this is so funny to me, Christ. It's short and detached and i'd like to come up with an actual storyline for it later but for now- you're welcome.

"The hell do we look like to you, the Von Trapp family? Get the fuck out of here, go!"

\------ Later ------

Morty- "Rick, you've seen The Sound Of Music?" 

Rick- "W-w-what're you talking about, Morty, of course I've seen it! You think I haven't seen the Sound Of Music? Jesus Christ."

Morty- "Well it just- just doesn't seem like a movie you would watch, Rick-"

Rick- "That offends me, Morty. I'm o_ooooo_ffended! I've seen it. I love that movie, Morty. I could've done without the sappy, altruistic, love story they put in there though. Julie Andrews did better in Mary Poppins. Where she wasn't _forced_ to be part of a _stupid love story_!"

Morty- "She wasn't- Rick she wasn't forced to be part of a love story, that's like eighty percent of the movie! I-it _is_ a love story! Besides, you don't think Mary Poppins was in love?"

Rick- "You think she _was_?!"

Morty- "Well, Dick Van Dyke-"

Rick- "She wasn't in love with the fucking chimney sweep, Morty, what the hell-" 

Morty- "W-well then why was he there?!"

Rick- "He's an integral part of the story Morty! He has to be there! There's no Mary Poppins without Dick Van Dyke!"

Morty- "That's what I'm saying, Rick! Geez, stop attacking me-"

Rick- "No it fucking isn't Morty! She wasn't in love with him!" 

Morty- "She- they flirt the whole movie!"

Rick- "Morty, she's a higher being! She might as well be a god, Morty! Why would she concern herself with lower beings like fucking chimney sweeps?"

Morty- "...So you don't think she was in love?"

Rick- "Fuck, Morty I thought we'd raised you better than this. What the _fuck_!"


End file.
